


The Book of Love

by saisei



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: As you wish, Coming In Pants, Cooking, Crying, Dacryphilia, Dressed and Undressed, Established Relationship, Interior Decorating, M/M, Money Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 08:31:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9713453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/pseuds/saisei
Summary: Yuuri and his many inappropriate turn-ons move in with Viktor. Viktor does not mind at all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The book of love is long and boring  
> No one can lift the damn thing  
> It's full of charts and facts and figures  
> and instructions for dancing  
> but I, I love it when you read to me  
> and you, you can read me anything  
> (The Book of Love - The Magnetic Fields)

After Nationals, Yuuri moved into Viktor's apartment with two suitcases, a carry-on, and his laptop bag. Viktor lived in a 2LDK, and he'd said Yuuri could use the guest room for his things. Yuuri suspected the room had been the former home of Viktor's mountain of FedEx boxes and trunks full of costumes; he'd spent the first few days secretly scrubbing the dust off the dresser, the desk, the window frames, and the lights.

Their schedules finally stopped being frantic once Worlds were over, Viktor with his silver medal (that Yuuri refused to kiss on principle) and Yuuri with his bronze, and it was like resurfacing into regular life. While they'd been occupied elsewhere, habits and routines had fallen into place. Viktor had the sudden realization that Yuuri had taken over all the cooking, and was conflicted about it until Yuuri asked if he wanted to challenge him to a cook-off.

"I'm actually not that good in the kitchen," Viktor admitted, poking curiously at the spatula laid out next to the stove, as if either he'd been unaware he owned a spatula, or was unsure what it was for.

Yuuri gave him a slow smile and leaned in close, so he could breathe the words straight into Viktor's ear. "So let me. I like it." He heard Viktor suck in a breath, as if he was being proposed to indecently. "There's an apron in my top drawer – could you bring it?" He curled his left hand to the back of Viktor's neck, holding him in place while he kissed his cheek. " _Domo_."

"Anything for you," Viktor assured him, apparently already over his worry. Makkachin followed him out of the kitchen; Yuuri had just enough time to finish taking out the ingredients for _pla neung manao_ and to line them up along the counter before he heard the returning click of dog toenails on the floorboards. Viktor insisted on tying the apron on, his fingers firm at the small of Yuuri's back as he tugged a perfect butterfly bow into place, and wondered out loud if Yuuri was trying to kill him with the chilies.

"Hush," Yuuri said. "I know what I'm doing." He spread newspaper out and started scaling the fish; Viktor made a noise (Yuuri would bet money that he'd never seen a fish being cleaned in his life) and removed himself purposefully to tidy up the dinner table. His apartment looked, Yuuri thought, like a costume: all the furniture had obviously been bought as a matching set, and the kitchen was hilariously overpowered for someone who used the microwave more than the gas rings. The image the apartment projected – cool, minimalist, personality-free – didn't line up with what Yuuri knew of Viktor, and he thought Viktor was (perhaps subconsciously) aware of the discrepancy. The table was in contrast an island of homeliness, persistently covered with papers and pens, books, the teapot, phone rechargers, keys, pocket change, pots of fancy hand cream, and dog toys and treats.

Yuuri didn't care, as long as he had enough space to set his plate down. As soon as the fish was prepped, he asked Viktor to stop rearranging the clutter and make a salad. Viktor called him bossy and slid a hand over Yuuri's ass on the way to the refrigerator.

"When are you having the rest of your things sent over?" Viktor asked, meticulously mangling a tomato into smaller and smaller chunks, as if he hoped Yuuri might somehow not notice.

Yuuri frowned. "What things? From where?"

"Clothes? Books? Your room is empty." The tomato was scraped up and added to their bowls. "You haven't moved anything into the bedroom, so I assumed..." A shrug, and the carrot was laid across the chopping block. "Well. That your things were in your room, not that you didn't _have_ things."

"I took the same amount of stuff to Detroit, and I was there for five years," Yuuri pointed out, and then smirked. "Although I used to travel with all these posters of you. I didn't think I'd need them, seeing as you sleep next to a framed picture of yourself."

"I dream of the day you let me live that down," Viktor said dryly, and let the subject drop.

They ate by candle light – they had to, Viktor insisted, seeing as they were both doing without alcohol, and how else would the meal be romantic? Yuuri wondered out loud how choking on fish bones was romantic, and Viktor told him to just eat his salad, then, and leave all the fish for him. Which was no hardship, he wanted Yuuri to know, because it was _delicious_.

"I'll tell Phichit you said so. He taught me." Yuuri had already sent him a picture of the dish, arranged as artfully as he could, and the reply had been a near-instantaneous _The way to a man's ♥!!!_ with a thumbs-up emoticon.

Because it was Thursday, Yuuri had to talk in Russian and Viktor in Japanese, which meant that the conversation veered wildly from one topic to the next, heavily dependent on gaps in vocabulary and grammar. Yuuri nearly did choke from laughing too hard at Viktor's terrible attempts at innuendo, and Viktor was smug until he got a mouthful that was too spicy and had to down both his and Yuuri's glasses of water in quick succession.

Yuuri got the pitcher from the refrigerator and handed it over, and then perched on the edge of his chair, twisting to watch the tears run down Viktor's face. The soft light made their wet tracks shimmer gold, and Yuuri reached out to brush one cheek, gilding his fingertips.

"I'm dying, and you're inappropriately turned on," Viktor accused, voice scratchy as he reverted to English, giving Yuuri a half-amused glare.

"It's very appropriate," Yuuri assured him. "Do you know what you look like? When your eyes are red, they're even bluer. Remember when you said you don't know what to do when people cry? I know exactly what I want to do with you."

"Right now?" The tone of voice was shocked, but Viktor was already standing and pulling Yuuri up, pushing their chairs in and plates back so Makkachin (snoring in bed) wouldn't be able to get into the food, blowing out the candles. "Well, if you insist." He gave a firm tug to Yuuri's apron strings, undoing the bow and then unwrapping him like a present as they made their way to the bedroom. 

Shutting the door behind them, Yuuri let Viktor kiss him and walk him backwards, until he bumped into the bed. He sat and pushed Viktor down, bending to keep kissing him, spreading his knees so Viktor could kneel on the floor between them.

Yuuri was already hard when Viktor took him in his mouth, and Yuuri found it impossible to keep still, even with Viktor's hands on his hips. He petted Viktor's hair, pushing it back, and Viktor looked up at him through his long lashes. There was a crinkle to his reddened eyes that said he was still amused by how aroused Yuuri was, but his own cheeks were flushed and he was definitely going for the gold in cocksucking. Yuuri's toes curled, and he told Viktor that – told him exactly what he was doing to him until Viktor's eyes fluttered shut.

Viktor was still in the loose drawstring pants he changed into at home, and Yuuri slid his foot over the fabric where it was stretched thin across Viktor's thigh, and then pressed up between his legs. Viktor shuddered, his fingers clenching as Yuuri mapped the length of him – this was the head of his cock, rubbing hot against the arch of his foot, and here were his balls, held tight by Viktor's ridiculously tiny underpants, and curling his toes _there_ made Viktor suck in a breath and open his eyes just enough to glare. So obviously Yuuri was going to do that again. Breaking Viktor's concentration was another one of his inappropriate turn-ons – he had _so many_ of them now.

Viktor probably felt the same way about distractions, because he started taking Yuuri deeper and used his tongue when he pulled back to lave every sensitive spot. One hand slid up Yuuri's chest to his nipple, long fingers teasing it to hardness. Yuuri made an embarrassing noise, but that still wasn't enough to make him falter; he could feel a damp spot at the front of Viktor's pants on each upstroke of his foot. In all the fantasies he'd had about Viktor over the years, he'd never imagined this.

That made it better, he told Viktor. He loved that Viktor was real, that he knew how soft his hair was, and that during sex Viktor's blush went all the way down to his shoulders ( _here_ , he pointed out helpfully, sliding the collar of his shirt to the side to touch that feverish skin). He loved, he told Viktor, but there was too much to say and he was feeling too much to remember the words in any of their languages.

"I love you," he got out at last, and Viktor pulled back and off suddenly, face twisting as he gasped. Yuuri could feel his cock jerk and throb against the back of his foot and rubbed him through his orgasm, until finally Viktor breathed out, " _Yuuri_ ," and shifted away from the pressure, wrapping his fingers around Yuuri and stroking him – 

Yuuri didn't even have time to give any warning; he came almost the second he was touched, surprising even himself. He cried out before he managed to shove his wrist against his mouth, feeling as if he'd detonated like a bomb, the very center of himself whiting out and going molten with pleasure. He saw, because he always was looking at Viktor, that he had come all over Viktor's face and down his shirt, and that made him shake and come even more, until he was light-headed from being so empty, having given everything to Viktor.

Viktor looked like he was crying, again, and Yuuri reached out to wipe at the mess – less, he admitted to himself, out of apology and more in thrilled wonder. In his wildest teenaged dreams he'd never imagined having the temerity to come on Viktor Nikiforov's face.

Viktor looked... amused, and a little stunned, and Yuuri suddenly wanted to know that he was the only one who'd ever done that. He slid down to the floor and kissed Viktor instead of asking, though – less risk and guaranteed satisfaction, not to mention he could slide his hands up under Viktor's shirt and savor the warmth of his skin.

Viktor kissed and touched back, until finally Yuuri's battle with his shirt made him laugh and pull back to strip it over his head.

"You were getting the best blowjob of your life, and you decided to make me come in my pants," Viktor said, tongue darting out to catch a trickle of come at the corner of his mouth.

Yuuri grinned, even though he could feel himself blushing. "You're welcome."

"I shouldn't be wearing pants," Viktor continued, like this was obvious and Yuuri was remiss in his care. "You should do something about that."

Yuuri rolled to his feet and offered Viktor his hand, and Viktor looked like he admired how the gesture was both helpful (the floor, Yuuri knew, was had on the knees) and insulting, insinuating Viktor was older and doddering. He still let Yuuri pull him up, and kept Yuuri's hand as he led the way out to the bathroom, where he smoothly stole the upper hand. He washed Yuuri from head to toe, despite Yuuri arguing that he'd showered at the rink and Viktor was just trying to find more ticklish places to exploit, before he let Yuuri return the favor.

"We should do that again," he said, blinking through water as Yuuri finally got his face cleaned to satisfaction. "Go finish dinner, because I'm starving, and then – " He raised his eyebrows significantly. "Do that again, and again."

"Sure," Yuuri agreed (as if he'd say no); and so they did.

A few days later Viktor handed Yuuri a bag when they got home, something he said he'd picked up over their lunch break.

"A thing for you, because you don't have things," he added with a shrug. "If you're amenable."

Yuuri frowned. "I don't know what that word means." He pulled a flat rectangular box out, and slid the lid off. And blinked. "It's a framed picture of... me." A nice picture, certainly: the one Janet Ansah had taken at the Grand Prix Final, that had been in all the newspapers. Yuuri wasn't sure what most people thought when they looked at it. To him, the fact that he was thinking of Viktor at that captured moment was as clear as the sun in the sky.

"If it's alright with you," Viktor rephrased, wrapping his arms around Yuuri from behind. "So my framed photo won't feel so lonely."

Yuuri leaned back against his chest, solid and strong. "Only if we move both pictures into the living room." He pointed to one of Viktor's many blank walls. "Over there. So anyone who comes over will see – " He cut himself off, but the unspoken _that we belong together_ sounded clear to his ears.

Viktor's arms tightened. "For you, anything," he said, like a promise, and Yuuri could hear the smile in his voice.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write some cute Valentine's Day fluff. I'm not really sure what happened here... Have a good day anyway!


End file.
